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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985450">You want what?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cutting, Depression, Random &amp; Short, Sad, Strict Parents, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:26:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just getting some feelings out.<br/>Btw don't read if depression triggers you. Also don't like don't read.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You ask… no tell me to come downstairs and socialize and be a part of the family. </p><p>You tell me to be a part of the same family that tells me how much of an embarrassment I am at every social event. </p><p>You tell me to be a part of the pretty picture for your new post. Then yell at me the next second for not being able to read your mind and do, say, be what you want me to be in that moment.</p><p>You tell me to be a part of the family that tells me I'm not good enough. I'm not smart enough. I'm not skinny enough. I'm not fat enough. I'm too much. I'm too little. I'm too loud. I'm too quiet. I act too old for my age. I don't act my age. I act too young for my age. I'm not enough.</p><p>You only want me around when it suits your needs. You only want me around to paint your pretty picture. You only want me to be a doll that you can use as a puppet and make me prance around by the strings of guilt that you have piled up so high. Only to tell me when the others are gone that I wasn't what you wanted. You tell me what I needed to change.</p><p>But then when I do at the next social gathering you yell at me for not doing what I did last time. Or you make up a new set of rules. That I did not know were a part of this game that you play. </p><p>You tell me to be a part of this family and to stop distancing myself. That I am letting you down. You tell me what to do in a form of a heavily concealed question. You make it seem like a choice but I know that it is not a choice. It is a command. </p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that tells me to shut up whenever I start silently screaming. You tell me to be a part of a family that tells me my depression is not real. That I am just exaggerating. That I just want attention. That my almost suicide was me being a coward. </p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that won't take no for an answer. You tell me to be a part of a family that gets angry when I tell them no. That screams how dare you when I say no. That scream that my body is theirs. I should be grateful that they didn't get an abortion with me. That I was lucky to be born.</p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that tells me crying is bad. That my emotions are fake. That everything I do is somehow someway something that is supposed to be a rebellion against you.</p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that judges my every move. </p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that will only except 1 answer to the question "How are you?"  The simple lie of I'm fine.</p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that makes me want to tear myself apart.</p><p>You tell me to be a part of a family that makes me lie every day without batting an eye.</p><p>You tell me to be a part of that family.</p><p>Ok.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi to anyone reading this. </p><p>I'm just letting some feelings out and hoping if someone else feels this way that they know there not alone.</p><p>Comments are always welcome.</p><p>This chapter is unedited.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Expectations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>My frustrations at the expectations shoved down my throat.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You tell me to do thing one and thing two at the same time and get angry when I am unable to do both. You tell me that I should have been able to do the simple things you ask. </p><p>You get so angry when I am unable to say a word to defend myself. When I stay silent as you shout and yell. When my ears ring so much unable to hear a thing. When I go to a special place in my mind where nothing can hurt me. You are angry when I place my mask of uncaring. You call me disrespectful and rude. You call me a little shit head for doing nothing and allowing you to run all over me.</p><p>But now? Now that I have realized that; no I don’t have to take your shit you get worse. How dare I speak up for myself? How dare I have a different opinion? How dare I say anything to defend myself against your supposedly achievable expectations? How dare I stop being your doll to play with as you choose? How dare I try to break free of your picture-perfect chains?  How dare I be a little shit?</p><p>Well, I’m sorry that I can’t handle being in the honor roll.  I’m sorry that I am not something you can dangle in the faces of family and “friends” like a piece of meat in front of dogs. I’m sorry that I suppress my screaming into soft-spoken words. I’m sorry that I can’t understand your “simple” expectations. Of always being right on a test but always wrong in your presence. Of being as mentally mature as you while still being a child. I’m sorry that I am unable to understand the simple things while using all of my energy to be “smart”. </p><p>I’m sorry for not looking like how you want. I’m sorry my weight isn’t within your “simple” expectations. I’m sorry that I look like the man you hate so much. I’m sorry for being hungry after not eating because you told me not to. I’m sorry for being so stressed that I got a sickness meant for seniors. I’m sorry that I have depression episodes that make the blood look like a beautiful painting with my skin being the canvas.</p><p>I’m sorry for acting my age. I’m sorry for not acting the age you want me to be in that moment. I’m sorry for standing up for myself against your perfect son. I’m sorry for being an able liar and manipulator. I’m sorry that I have stopped trying to care about anything so you can’t hurt me anymore. I’m sorry for being cold and emotionless. I’m sorry for being able to put on a mask of perfection. I’m sorry that I see through your lies. I’m sorry that I see through your guilt trips. I’m sorry for being able to see through your bullshit.</p><p>I’m sorry for being born.</p><p> </p><p>Sike. </p><p>No, I’m not fucking sorry for understanding how the fuck to keep myself from drowning in your bullshit! I’m not sorry for trying to survive under your toxic masculinity, and feminist views. I’m not sorry that I am Asian and that I can sell for a lot of money as a fucking sex slave! Thanks for calling me sexy asshat! I’m never going to be sorry that my ass looks good in jeans! </p><p>I don’t care how you want me to be. I am fucking tired of being a doll to you. I am fucking sick of trying to change myself for you when you just keep thinking what everyone else thinks. </p><p>I am sick of being unable to rip off this mask you have glued onto my face. I am sick of being unable to tell which thoughts are mine or warnings you have drilled into my head. I am sick of being unable to breathe!</p><p> I am sick of having to be manipulative just so I can get some fucking help for the thoughts in my fucking head. I hate that you have told me my entire life that I can’t possibly want to put a bullet through my brains. I hate that you never helped me when I begged you to save me from the people threatening to kill me because I have a different eye shape. I hate that you never believed that I ever told the truth. I hate that you keep spreading the lies. I never threatened to bring a gun to school! I threatened to fucking kill myself! But you believed the bitch that barked first. So naturally, I now wanted to kill my new baby brother. You locked me in my room for a month because I tried to move around him after he threw a tantrum and I accidentally stepped on his finger. Yes, parents that was my master plan to kill him. Great logic. I fucking hate you.</p><p>I hate that I had to use a check-up, that I am lucky to ever get, to force you to get me a therapist. And even after you heard the diagnosis you still told me that I wasn’t depressed. That I just wanted fucking attention, and if I did on the off chance really do feel that way I should have spoken up.</p><p>So I do. I shove aside my feelings of disbelief and try to open up all of the emotions I keep bottled up. The next thing out of your mouth is to throw me into an asylum. Thanks. I really need that while having a fucking panic attack. Makes me feel really safe around you. Makes me wonder how the fuck I haven’t killed myself yet.</p><p>So thanks parents for your simple expectations. I feel just peachy. </p><p>And by the way. Before I bottle this all up into a perfect box. Fuck you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dear strict parents,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hi, it’s me again. Your daughter’s unspoken words that you will never hear. Like how they only way to convince herself to hold on for another day is because if she dies she would make a really big mess with the blood and carrying a dead 175.8-pound child is kinda a hassle and probably a big inconvenience. </p><p>Or how she can only force herself to cry by having a mental breakdown. And she has a set time for it to so you don’t see it. She knows that you hate her showing any unwanted emotion. She knows that you hate it when she has an opinion so please don’t yell when we stay silent as you “lecture” us. </p><p>She knows that she is a burden and to pay off her debt, she has to earn her living. She knows that she was privileged to not be an abortion child. So please don’t yell when the dishes aren’t done as soon as you wake up.</p><p>Oh almost forgot. Please don’t push your selves to say I love you. We both know your lying so please tell us the truth.  We know that you hate us for not being not a part of the picture-perfect family you created. We know that you hate us because we remind you of your past relationship that ended badly. We know that you only keep us around and allow us to see our biological father is so he doesn’t go to court to be able to stop paying child services. We know that we weren’t meant to be born. We know that you hate us. So please say how you really feel. Not the lie of “I love you”.</p>
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